reverielogs | ( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

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( 0 0 1 » ENSEMBLE ) welcome to the inaugural log

» WHO? everyone
» WHEN? may 1 onward
» WHERE? all over the station
» WHAT? introductory log feat. waking up, exploration, meeting over food and noises in the walls
» WARNINGS? potential for body horror, psychological horror, hallucinations, physical injury

( 0 0 1 ) » WAKE UP

Were you asleep or were you unconscious? It doesn't matter: when you come to, there's an odd taste in your mouth and there's a low-level mechanical hum in the air. Your head hurts and you feel nauseous. You aren't anywhere you know: everything around you is metal, from the floor you lie on all the way to the ceiling. You are dressed in a jumpsuit you definitely weren't wearing before.

"We tried to save the world. I think— I think we did the opposite."

The message repeats on a loop. If you look for its source, you find a comms device on the floor next to you. The logo on its wallpaper says REVERIE TERMINAL. Upon closer inspection, you find the same logo on your jumpsuit.

Welcome to your new home.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 2 ) LOOK AROUND

You've woken up — but where have you woken up? It may be time to explore your new home. Rifling through a crew quarter will make the room's terminal lock to the comms device you're carrying; the room becomes yours. That includes everything in it, from the additional jumpsuit to the two extra sets of underwear. In some quarters, you may find remnants of whoever was here before you: a book on the nightstand, a coffee mug still on the table, a lonely sock on the floor.

A look around the shared areas will reveal the bar, some of its bottles already open, the mess hall, observation deck and the gym area with its dirty pool. An even closer look around these areas might reveal basic first aid kits as well as basic tool kits and fire extinguishers. The kits are located near the fire extinguishers in compartments in the wall that are not immediately visible. Hopefully, nothing's on fire and no one needs first aid... but that tool kit might come in handy.

Every now and then, as you explore, you might find yourself standing before a door that is locked. Try as you might, you will not be able to get it open.

( ♪ )

( OOC: What items characters find of those who were there before them is up to players, but please limit it to a single item that is mundane and somewhat useless in nature. )

( 0 0 3 ) HAVE A BITE

Sooner or later, all characters will have to make their way to the mess hall if they want to eat. In the mess hall, here are a number of replicator-like devices that sometimes work and sometimes don't— but after a recent malfunction that some characters may have noticed, they seem to work just fine... or at least as well as ever: nothing is particularly palatable, but at least it's nourishment, right?

So why not sit down at a table, whether it's already occupied or not, and have a meal. Maybe use it as an opportunity to introduce yourself, or just to complain about what passes for coffee around here.

And if coffee isn't your preferred beverage, well. There's always the bar.

( ♪ )

( 0 0 4 ) NOISES IN THE WALLS

For some, it's been over a week on the station. For others, merely a day or two. For all, things are starting to change: maybe you were asleep or maybe you weren't, but surely the scream that reverberates through the station will startle you. Was it human? Whatever it was, it seems to be coming from the walls of the station. Banging, clanging, then more screams.

Are you going to chase the sounds? Hide away from them? Try to investigate?

If you follow the sound of screams through the station's corridors and halls, you might feel someone - or was it something? - grab you from behind and pull hard. But when you turn around or turn your head if you've fallen, there's nothing and no one there. If you investigate and perhaps put your ear to a wall to see if the noises really come from there, or bang on the wall, you might hear something other than screams and clanging. Strain your ears and you might hear nothing at all — or you might be able to make out a soft "help me". It's barely above a whisper. Did it sound familiar? If you try to take apart the wall, two things will happen: you'll feel uncharacteristically weak and lethargic all of the sudden, and you'll find nothing at all but wiring and more metal.

Whatever you do, you'll find that the noises stop after a while, with no discernible source other than "the walls". And then hours later, they'll start again. Stop again. Start again a day later— and then stop for good.

( ♪ )

( O O C ) ACTIONS

Hello Reverie Terminal Operators! Welcome to our inaugural event. We hope you'll enjoy it!

To help exploration and interaction with the station, we have put together ten (10) 'actions' that you can request. These actions range from very minor, such as receiving a small piece of information about the station, to major, which may be a more vital piece of information or something far less pleasant, and are completely opt-in. These actions can help get your character involved in the plot, jump into the plot and its mysteries, and have more of a personal prompt to jump off of if you so wish.

Please note if you would avoid particular kinds of consequences (for example, if you'd rather your character not be injured), and we'll try to accommodate that, but please be aware that heavy themes are in play and the actions may feature body horror, injury and hallucinations.

If you'd like to receive an action, please reply to this comment with the following:

In the future, actions such as these may be "bought" with bonus AC.

Please use content warning in your top-levels wherever necessary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

† TRAP DOOR.
[Akira isn't a fan of all of the locked doors.

Mostly because, for him, they usually don't remain locked for very long at all. There were a handful of down-sides to sharing a human body with a demon, but the strength was certainly one of the things he'd gotten fond of pretty quickly. But all of the barred doors in this place were oddly resistant, making him question whether it was his strength that'd been sapped or if the metal in this place was some kind of fucked-up futuristic space metal that not even demons had figured out how to get their way through yet.

Now, there's a saying: that it's insanity to do the same thing over and over and expect a different result. This place must be knocking Akira off his rocker, then, because this must be the seventh door he's strained every muscle in his body to try to pull or push open and there's still nothing happening.

Until, well, all at once, something does.

The metal beneath his hands as he pushes against it seems to ripple, the surface all at once shifting from unyielding to oddly pliant, like the surface tension of a viscious substance struggling to maintain uncompromised. Then it breaks all at once, dissolving into what feels like a thick liquid, swallowing up his hands and forearms up to his elbows before shifting again: back to solid metal.

With him stuck in side.]

Hnngh? [He tugs experimentally, but his arms don't budge. He can't move his fingers, his hands, anything; it's a unique sort of shackle that's perfectly contoured to every inch it'd manage to entrap.] What the fuck?!

[Never one to do the properly-advised thing, Akira continues to pull harder, at one point walking his legs up under him against the door so he could use the strength of pushing up with them to try to yank himself free. He can only manage this for a little while before the joints in his shoulders screech and protest, threatening to pop out of place. His breath escapes him in an explosive exhale, and he drops once more back to the floor, shoulders hunched as he rests his forehead against the door, catching his breath.]

Stupid - thing! [And here, smart boy he is, he just full-on headbutts the door. To the result you would expect.] Ow! Ow, ow ow ow. [And he can't even rub at the red spot that'd blossomed in the middle of his forehead. Idiot.]

† WALL NOISE.
[The corridors of the station are usually ruled with an uneasy sort of silence, but out of the blue, that silence is shattered by a scream.

People can be defined and characterized by how they react under pressure. Someone smart would probably run away from sounds of distress, but before he can even start to process his thoughts about it, Akira is already dashing towards it. He's trying to maintain a speed that's fast but which hopefully would pass for human if he was seen (probably, mostly), but it was still a speed so reckless that when something seems to reach out and grasp at the back of his jumpsuit, he catches like a dog at the end of a leash and is suspended like that for the fraction of a second before being released to collapse onto the floor.

With as much adrenaline in his system as there is, he doesn't waste any time worrying about any injury (he knows there wouldn't be). He scrambles up onto his hands and knees, wheeling around him to see who or what had reached out to grab at him - to find there was nothing. What the fuck? He definitely hadn't been mistaken about it; not a whole hell of a lot could trip him up anymore, with reflexes like he had. He listens carefully, sharp hearing picking out the tell-tale sounds of boots against the metallic floor at a quick clip, coming down the corridor perpendicular to the one he was currently on.

He gets back to his feet, heading in that direction.] Hey! [Whoever it was, they were either running towards the yelling also or the person who had been yelling, and either way, he had questions.]

† WILDCARD.
[Other prompts or anything else! Feel free to hit me up at

novaphase to figure anything out.]

Hi?

[ listen, people running around and shouting is not out of the norm nowadays. as much as it pains him to admit that. then again, when hadn't he been running? it's so hard to remember anymore.

either way, he blinks uncertainly back at the stranger, hands lifting up a tad defensively. his steps halt and he just stares, hands uselessly dangling in the air. it's a fairly good showing that he's unarmed and clueless as hell. though, that's likely the status quo around here, isn't it?

it takes a lot to rattle him, but he's a tad nervous. all things considered, people running after him has never actually lead to anything good. ]

[Akira slows to a jog and then to a halt, eyes sharp in taking in the details of the hands held up and proffered as empty and harmless (though he was of a mind that just because one was unarmed didn't mean they were not dangerous; he's his own testament enough to that). It's less that and more the look in his eyes that disarm's Akira's own alarm, causing the line of his shoulders to drop a few degrees as one layer of tension slowly unwinds itself from around him.

But, wow, dude, with all the weird shit that's goin' on, you could use a little more wariness and caution and, hell, maybe even some fear in there, especially if you really are defenseless. You're going the right way for something bad to happen to you otherwise.

Akira's eyes narrow a little bit as he questions,] You hear anything? Like, screaming? Seemed like it was coming from over here.

[ It isn't surprising that Ryo inevitably finds him.

It'd been like this since they were children: Akira would vanish from view or Ryo would vanish from his, only to be pulled back together as though magnetized — two complementary ends. The quiet that came from the station and Ryo's communicator both had been enough to bring him to wandering in search of him, alongside the odd tug at the bottom of his gut. Shapeless and undefinable as it was, despite all the logic that Ryo possessed, he'd followed it anyhow. After all, it had always led him to what he was looking for in the end.

And it does here, in the next corner Ryo takes to nearly bump shoulders with a familiar frame. He knows it is Akira before he can even take him in, already assessing the situation he's come into before Akira can explain it to him. Now isn't the time to ask about it and he's already seen some very dubious things on this station to start.

But, doesn't mean he wants it associated with them. ]

Stand still, [ Ryo says, at once level and directive. He steps into Akira's space as he always has, not even waiting for a response before he rests one, pale hand against his right bicep. He follows the curvature of his arm down to where it terminates into and past the door, fingers lifting and fisting briefly to knock against the metal as if it will tell him something more. And it does, as certain metals and densities will produce a certain hum, a certain echo in response. This one does not, the vibration swallowed up by the scant spaces around them. Ryo's eyes narrow, mouth dipping down. ] Can you move your fingers?

[ He slants a look to Akira, stepping back just enough to look over his shoulder in the next breath. As always, his gears are turning quickly. He reaches into his pocket. ]

[There had been something like ten long years between Ryo being taken away to live elsewhere and him suddenly returning like a whirlwind into Akira's life, and even during all of that time, there had been a piece of him that had known he'd show back up eventually. There's a tether that had been forged between the two of them in their youth that was both unbreakable and without limit, and it would always bring one back to the other. These last few weeks, whenever Akira had gotten himself in trouble, even when he hadn't given much indication of where he'd be going, Ryo was there when he needed him the most. So when not even five minutes passes and Ryo materializes at his side, all of his quiet assuredness rushing in behind him to provide a balm to this new anxiety of being, well, stuck in a fucking door, he doesn't feel much surprise. Just relief; tension easing from his shoulders, a solid block of nerves in his mind shaking out and dissolving.

If there's anyone who can get him outta any sort of bind, it's Ryo.

Now he's stuck here feeling the tiniest bit embarrassed, feeling the heat of it prickle along the back of his neck like a bad premonition. He clears his throat as Ryo's hand settles on his upper arm, expression clouding into something that almost looked sheepish. He does remain still as he talks, feeling the smooth, measured path of Ryo's fingers tracing from his shoulder to where they disappeared into the wall.] I was just... pushin' on it, to try to open it, and it - [how does he even explain this?] - I dunno. It seemed to turn into jelly, and then I sank in. And then I got stuck.

[God, that sounds stupid. Stupider still that it's the whole truth and nothing else.]

No. [His frown deepens. He's really resisting the urge to start pulling again.] I can't move anything. [There's a brief pause before he adds, in a lower tone of voice, little more than a growl in the back of his throat,] I feel like I should be able to.

[Even if it was metal, usually something like that wouldn't stop him; he could just yank his arm out, no problem. That's why he's wondering if this metal was some kind of weird space-mythril or something, or if he's just lost his edge.]

[ Don't worry, is what had always managed to pass between them. In the time they'd spent as children in that town against the shore, that had been the sentiment that had come in his nature inclination to protect Akira with all that he had. Even if these threats back then had been only perceived, Ryo had always angled to make certain no harm would come to him. To Akira, who once gathered his small shell of a body into his arms — had held him tight and warm against his chest and cried into his damp hair that Ryo no longer had to be frightened anymore.

How could he be frightened, when Akira needed him? Fear was a pointless reaction to have in this moment even despite Akira's explanations, when all it would do was cloud his judgement. So, like the fog of nerves that Akira shakes from Ryo's touch and voice alone, Ryo frees himself from bonds of the typical. He always has. He always would.

The world had always been dangerous. This place, no matter where they were or their circumstances, was the same. They could plan for all that came after. Ryo, after all, had a promise to keep. He would protect Akira, no matter the cost. ]

Don't pull, [ he says, more gentle than not. It's okay. Of course he'd known Akira was resisting the urge to surge back, to tug himself free of his predicament. Humans — all humans —, fought and struggled against their basest instincts. In situations where one is trapped, epinephrine and norepinephrine flood the whole of one's system. In that stress, in that panic — the body prepares itself to flee or fight tooth and nail for survival. Akira, he knew, wouldn't feel it for long if he injured himself further trying his hand against it — but, that wouldn't do well for Akira. Not here, in the end. Not here, on this station millions of miles from home with little to no resources that Ryo could thus give to him.

He again pushes down the tight, insidious feeling that wells up against his ribs when Akira admits to him that he can no longer move his fingers. He knows it would just be a matter of retrieval in normal circumstances, but these circumstances are no longer normal. He can't just procure flesh and bone should he not be able to solve for the hypothetical "x." He takes a faint breath, eyes scanning their surroundings.

The corridor beyond them terminates on the far end. Which means — ]

Akira, [ Ryo starts. Akira's name an effortless sound, well-worn and comfortable against his tongue. ] I want you to try to use that body of yours. [ From his pocket, he finally removes the gun he'd woken up with. It isn't as convincing up close as he hopes it would be, its muzzle already stained with a peculiar residue from his earlier experiments. He takes a few steps further out, enough so the distance between them is substantial enough for him to hopefully not feel the full of what he'd ask him to do. Enough so that he's bodily in the middle of the adjoining corridor, a buffer between where Akira is and the rest of the station. ]

Don't use your strength, [ he continues, the pale of his eyes settling back on him for a scant moment. He chooses his next words carefully. A precaution, if anyone is within earshot. ] That metal should become pliable enough to free you if we give it enough heat.

[ He steps to the corner of Akira's range of sight. It'd be enough to assure he could keep an eye on both situations at once without too much damage. ]

Edited 2018-05-02 03:28 (UTC)

[Akira knows better than most that each and every person is broken in a way. It's not a bad thing, like how some might paint it — existing in this world tended to inflict abrasions and erosions upon them, place pressures which formed cracks, strike them against surfaces which chipped or gouged away at them. That's just life, and it was accepted as the form of payment for living in it; people went about their business in their lives ignoring these injuries to themselves, minimizing them to their base foundation, but Akira had always been able to perceive them more keenly than most. Ironic, then, that it'd become a fracture of his own, though one he didn't shy away from. Between himself and Ryo they could see most clearly the way they were broken, and they did what they could to help and protect the other. There was no pity in it. He hadn't felt anything like that when he'd scooped the small body of the boy he'd found out by the cliffs into his arms, thinking that his skin felt as cold as the depth of loneliness he sensed behind his eyes. He'd just felt sympathy in the way only a human could, and the overpowering sense of wanting to right it that he'd continued to follow through on every day they'd been in one another's lives.

Akira always led with his heart, allowing it to dictate his path in life. He'd found it the smartest thing to do since he wasn't necessarily the smartest (something he accepts readily enough), but doing this wasn't without its problems. Especially now he could get overwhelmed or aggravated, shortening his grasp of patience and putting him at risk for doing something even stupider than normal. Ryo was a salve for that, calming him down, giving him space to breathe and to try to think. As soon as he tells him not to pull, he doesn't, and he realizes it'd been ill-advised to keep doing something which was clearly dangerous and not helpful. He starts to take deep breaths, realizing that they had started to become shallow, scooping out in rapid bursts from his ribcage only to maintain his low level of anxiety.

That slowly starts to ease up as well. Even more so when Ryo says his name, spoken like a mantra that had always wiped away what was noisy and unnecessary and drawn a clear and concise line to what was imperative and important. It's not the first time he's heard him say this to him, and in that, the familiarity hearkens back to a situation that'd seemed so much simpler in retrospect — Ryo had needed help, and Akira had finally been given something he could use to do so. A rumble of acknowledgement sounds from the hollow of his throat. He'd do it. Pretty much whatever Ryo asked of him, he'd do it.

He blinks owlishly as Ryo produces the gun, looking sharply to him and then back to the weapon, though he notices belatedly that it... didn't quite have the construction of one of the firearms he typically carried around. Something else — was that glue? Akira's thinking that seems pretty counter-intuitive when Ryo begins to step away. Keeping watch. Akira's eyes follow him, keen with understanding, and he nods at the veiled suggestion.

Heat... Well, it's about the only other thing he can do in this situation.

He waits until Ryo has taken up his lookout position before he starts to raise his body temperature. It's a sharp increase, ratcheting up quickly enough in a few seconds to cause the air to waver around him, shimmering like a summer mirage on hot pavement. A few seconds later and it seems to be emanating from him like a glow, and it's having some effect on the door; the metal is beginning to glow bright orange where it comes into contact with his arms, and he thinks he can move his fingers.

He continues to let the temperature rise to the point where the fabric of the coveralls he's wearing is beginning to smoke, threatening to catch fire. Now or never, he guesses. He starts to pull, this time his arms slowly separating from the wall like he was pulling them from a pit of tar. He puts his foot up against the door again, giving one last pull, and then he just sort of pops out of the wall like a particularly stubborn cork out of a wine bottle (except with a much worse sound).

He then promptly falls on his ass.] Ow. [He lifts his arms to inspect them, and, well, good thing he doesn't mind short sleeves, because the fabric that'd been pressed between his skin and the metal had been burned away. The communicator seems fine, oddly enough. He focuses on cooling off his body temperature now, trying to wipe away the soot and whatever metallic residue remained from the door; he looks over to Ryo, the shaky grin coming over his expression sheepish.]

Well. It worked. [Mostly.]

[ Like gold warmed between the palms of one's hands, Akira had always been something that bound Ryo's fissures with a decisive brightness, a warmth that was beyond his ability to spool into words. His own sense of self had been fractured long ago, perhaps from before he had ever been born — in the quiet recesses of a time he could no longer glance upon, buried in his heart so silent and so painful that his calm was the pearl that built around it. But, at the end of the day, sand is just sand and pearls are just nacre and Ryo Asuka is still a being held together by Akira Fudo in a sense he can't even begin to acknowledge without plunging his whole self purposefully and purposely into the dark.

Where Akira found it made humans what they were, each tiny and inconceivable crack in the mantle of their lives, Ryo thought these within himself were an ugliness. Like the moon, he was devoid of beauty without a light. The surface of his memory irrevocably pocked with absence and dissonance. Ryo'd never been whole, but he was more whole with him. With Akira, he felt tethered to the Earth. Like a gravity, Akira kept him locked in a willing and perpetual orbit. Ryo could not imagine now what life would have been like had he never met him. He could no longer imagine having no one at all to look to.

But, somehow, he knew. He knew that it wasn't something he was supposed to ever become accustomed to. It wasn't something he wasn't supposed to follow after until the ends of the world to get to. To get to what? He brushes past it. There are other circumstances more important in the moment. There are other things more crucial to meet, more with the faint quirk of his lips. It's an unvoiced approval for Akira's gradual effort to regain calm. Like Akira himself, Ryo had always trusted him. Since Akira had told Ryo he no longer had to be afraid anymore, he had always maintained that Akira had meant it. He had always placed faith in Akira when he led him into realms he would never go tread on his own, something instinctual and unrestrained in his blood waking up each time Akira would push him to have fun — to explore all that was about them with more zeal than Ryo ever normally would.

It was as though there was a tacit agreement made long ago. On that cliff-side, by the ocean, with the rush and roar of water in their ears — they would link inevitably together as though the closures on a chain, like pottery mended with metal. And here, that consistency does not change. It hasn't, even after a decade apart. Ryo stands guard as Akira had guarded him years ago, weeks ago. His eyes are clear and sharp even against the sudden surge of hellfire, the way the surrounding heat molds against his skin like a visible presence. It curls against him, heavy and blistering, and Ryo keeps back a wince as he waits for his suggestion to hopefully do as he's suggested for him. For Akira.

In a way, he'd known already that Akira freeing himself would be the outcome. He'd seen what the warmth Akira's body could produce could do, the way it would bubble skin and sinew. Exposed to the super-heated air by the gnashing of fangs and the grapple of claws, he knew it more a matter of time than a matter of chance. So, when Akira knocks himself back with considerable force, Ryo disregards the thick of the atmosphere and the stench of molten metal.

He pockets the gun, picks his way instinctively across the field of molten residue. It glows red hot about him like coal kicked off a kiln and he's careful as he crouches back far enough to only feel a mild discomfort generated by the temperature rolling off the (still molten) door. Yet, even despite his being pale, the flush it forces across his skin is lighter than should be, should have ever been. Ryo's always been unusually good at modulating his tolerance for questionable conditions. At least, that is he always supposed. ]

Flex your fingers and then make a fist, [ he says, his eyes observing the bare lay of Akira's arms. He glances back up briefly, to meet his eyes and adjusts himself upon his heels carefully to avoid the brunt of the heat that consumes the space about them. There's a faint furrow between his eyebrows, but that is the only tell of any deeper concern as he keeps himself (just barely) from reaching out. ] I want to be sure of how well you can move them.

[ Better to check now then check later. His healing rate was alarming, but it was better to get it right the first time than have to later fix it again. ]

akira fudo † devilman crybaby

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